


Thanks for the Drink

by BirdOfHermes



Category: Hellsing, Hellsing OVA
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Maledom, Maledom/Femsub, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, POV First Person, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Vampire Sex, sexytime with the No Life King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the No Life King fulfills his needs in the modern day world. Shameless PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks for the Drink

**Author's Note:**

> Another experiment. I'm trying to hone my smut skills, so please bear with me.

Soft jazz. It oozes and drips down the walls of the bar, across the polished tabletops, along the lacquered floor, and across every inch of me. It’s slow and sweet like honey. I wish it would erase the bitter taste in my mouth.

The scotch disappears down my throat, burning smooth like it should. I fish another cigarette out of the carton and tap it against my palm. I raise it to my lips, and just as I do, I feel a presence directly to my right. Feel is the only word because he doesn’t walk or stroll in. He just appears with his own aura surrounding him like a fog seeping beneath the front door after a rainstorm.

He sits next to me in a very particular fashion; one long leg crossed over the other, resting his large hands on the bar, his posture relaxing like a cat that had found a comfortable spot to make his own. As he slides into my peripheral vision, I get a good look at him. Long jet-black hair that hides half of his face, porcelain white skin so smooth it has to be nearly impossible, limbs that seem too long and yet oddly fit his frame, lips that are just full enough without making him look feminine. He wears a long blood-red overcoat, a stiff white button up shirt, black slacks fitted so tight that it’s difficult to tell if there’s anything underneath them, and knee-high leather boots of a fine quality. His features are classically handsome in a Victorian prince sort of way, rare in this day and age, and the light scent of cologne follows when he settles into the seat.

My hands dig into my jacket pocket for a lighter, but just as I turn my head, the tall stranger suddenly holds out his hand and flicks his thumb across a silver lighter. He says nothing, not even looking at me.

“Oh. Thank you,” I say, using the flame to light the cigarette. He flips it closed in a practiced movement and gestures to the bartender.

“Scotch,” he purrs in an absurdly deep baritone with no hint of an accent. “Two-fingers. Jameson.”

The bartender obliges. I return my attention to the stage, but the whole right side of my arm tingles knowing that the stranger is there. I try my best to sink back into the music, but his peculiar presence won’t let me. Another mouthful of scotch finally loosens my tongue.

“I’ve never tried the Jameson brand before,” I say as casually as possible, flicking a bit of ash off the end of my cig before taking another puff. “How is it?”

“I find it to be flavorful without losing the bite of the alcohol,” the stranger says. “Would you care for a taste?”

“As long as you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He slides the glass towards me, which is surprising since the usual skeezy guys hand it to me and make a point to touch my fingers with theirs. I sip the scotch and rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth to absorb the flavor.

I nod, edging it back over to him. “I like it. Good choice. You know your scotch.”

He tilts his head, and his wily hair tumbles across his face, allowing me to see one eye. It’s a rare topaz blue that stands out against the ebony of his hair and the paleness of his skin. “I know a lot of things, my dear.”

However, he doesn’t launch into some pick up line or ask me about myself. He just sips his scotch and closes his eyes, as if listening to the music. Curiouser and curiouser.

The band on stage plays another half hour before taking a break. I’m midway through my next glass, so of course another question pops out before I can stop it.

“What brings you to the city?”

He arches a thick eyebrow. “Oh? What makes you think I’m not from here?”

“You’re dressed too nicely for a Friday night, for one thing,” I say, smiling. “And you’ve been here this long without looking around, which means you actually came here to drink and not to pick up women. So I figure you’re visiting the area.”

“Mm,” he confirms, and the low sound makes me shiver a bit. “Very astute. But perhaps you are too naïve. Perhaps I am here to find myself a companion for the evening, but I know how to appear as if I am not.”

“True. I applaud your technique, then. You had me fooled.”

He smiles and it’s beyond handsome. His teeth are so white I feel like putting on sunglasses. “I take that as a compliment. You don’t seem easily fooled.”

“Ha,” I bark, snuffing out my cigarette stub. “Tell that to the last guy I went out with.”

“Surely you’re not here on account of some unscrupulous boy,” he says in a disapproving tone.

“Sadly, yes,” I sigh. “I’m a cliché. I’m here listening to jazz because I just broke it off with the jackass. I’ll spare you the details. Just assume he’s the scum of the earth.”

“My condolences. Modern relationships are known to be nasty.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Modern? Just how long have you been around?”

“Longer than you’d think, my dear. Exactly what was the fool’s crime that drove you to drink?”

“Messed around on me the day before our six month anniversary.”

The edge of his lips curls up in a snarl. “Infidelity. How ghastly, especially when done to a woman of your quality.”

There we go. A compliment. Perhaps I am getting somewhere. “And how do you know I’m a woman of quality?”

The smile stretches wider. “Your hair is expertly done, as in you do not style it yourself. The ring on your finger is real silver, not imitation. Your clothes are high quality fabrics and your purse is as well. I would venture to guess you are in the financial business, where it is difficult to find men who will not cheat or will not treat you like a trophy because you are beautiful.”

I can’t speak for a moment. “Now there’s a talent.”

He chuckles. “Simple powers of observation, nothing more.”

“And modest too. You must be here meeting someone.”

“You might say that.” Something glints in his eyes—so quickly I nearly missed it. I feel the urge to reach out and touch him, run my hand down his chest to see if it was as firm as it looked. I shake my head slightly and check the clock on the wall behind the bartender’s head.

I wince. “It’s late. Good girls aren’t supposed to stay out at this hour.”

I pay for the last drink and stand. The stranger rises as well and holds out my coat. I slip my arms into the sleeves and feel his hands smoothing the material across my shoulders. Warm breath tickles the nape of my neck. I want to press myself into him. It’s strange, like a compulsion, like his touch would be familiar to me if I allowed it.

“Shall I walk you out?” he asks. Again, the politeness of the gesture surprises me. I nod and we head towards the door, the woman on stage cooing about why won’t men do right.

It’s cool, borderline cold, when I reach outside. The streets are faintly lit by the lamp posts along the sidewalk and aside from a few bums, no one’s around. Everyone is safe and warm inside their homes with their loved ones. Lucky bastards.

I turn to the stranger, tilting my head quite a bit. He’s taller than I expected, somewhere around 6’2’’ and change. He takes my right hand in his and kisses the back of it, his eyes fixed on mine, his lips as soft as they looked. “I bid you good night, madam.”

I shake my head. “A gentleman to the end.”

Then I grab the lapel of his overcoat and pull him down to my lips, kissing him with abandon. He doesn’t hesitate or stiffen against me. Perhaps he saw it coming. The kiss is pure fire. It eats a hole through my chest and sends my body up in a flash of sensation. He tastes like scotch and something sharper, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I hold the kiss for several pulse-pounding seconds and then let go, staring up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“You’re not going to let me go that easily, are you?”

A smirk touches those pale lips. “Are you sure it is wise to invite a stranger into your home?”

“No. It’s not wise. But it’s what I want.”

He tilts his head towards me in acknowledgment. “Very well. Lead the way.”

* * *

 

I wasn’t sure what to expect once we walked through the doorway to my apartment. My ex was always quick to shove me against the door or throw me on the couch. The stranger doesn’t. He lets me put up my coat in the hall closet and follows me like a looming shadow to the bedroom. Once I’ve shut the door, he sheds his coat and crooks one finger at me, still wearing that faintly amused little smirk. I step out of my heels and glide towards him, trying desperately to keep my breathing under control.

He slides his long arms around my waist, pulling me against the firmness of his chest, his mouth finding my neck in an open-mouthed kiss. I shiver as his tongue darts out to lick over my pulse and that’s when I feel the bulge in his trousers. His hands trail up my waist to the zipper of the dress and it comes undone in a smooth motion, baring my skin to the chilly air. He slides his hands up my spine and I arch against him, impatient for more. He chuckles at me and sits on the edge of the bed, tugging the material off my body and sitting me down in his lap. We kiss. I press into him urgently, but he forces me to match his pace, still going slowly as if he wants to savor the way I taste.

After what seems like eternity, he unhooks my bra and slips my right breast into his mouth. I moan as he circles the nipple with his tongue, nipping just barely, and run my hands through his thick, wily hair. My hips circle over his again and again, trying to relieve the ache at my center, and he hums with pleasure, though keeping still the whole time.

He grips my waist and rolls me onto my back, slipping off the underwear. He raises onto his knees and unbuttons his shirt, exposing miles and miles of porcelain skin and rippling muscles. He kicks off the pants, revealing boxer briefs, and catches both my knees, pulling them apart. He stares at my glistening entrance for a heavy moment, sinking down towards me. I nearly shriek as he licks me slowly, bottom to top, closing his lips over my clit at the end of that first shudder-inducing stroke. I expect him to move on, but instead he tugs my legs over his broad shoulders and props himself up on his elbows, holding my thighs in place as he begins licking, sucking, swirling his tongue over the delicate flesh.

I completely lose it. Heat-soaked waves of pleasure spread through me with every lap of that long, hot tongue reaching deep within and stroking every secret part of me. He never stops, never pauses to let me catch my breath, somehow knowing exactly how to drive me to the tipping point without going over it yet. I squirm and writhe underneath him, unable to control the desperate pitch in my voice as I surge towards the climax. He lifts up at just the right moment and sinks two long fingers inside me all the way until his knuckles stretch me wide and surrounds my spot with his lips, sucking as he plunges them in and out in a hard, vicious rhythm.

I scream as it sends me flying off the edge into the abyss, my body jerking and twitching around his hand and mouth. I collapse moments later, gasping for air, my vision blurred. It takes me a few moments to regain my bearings. The stranger’s smirk widens into a wicked grin as he licks his fingers and mouth clean, watching my reaction all the while.

At last, he kicks off his boxer briefs and my mouth practically salivates at the sight of him. I lift up towards him, but he shakes his head briefly, wordlessly telling me he’s too impatient to receive anything at the moment. He slides his arms beneath my knees, propping my legs along his forearms, spreading me open to him, his handsome face suddenly serious with concentration. I can’t help gasping as the tip pushes against the edges of me, not quite going in, just testing whether I’m ready or not. He’s so careful that I reach up to grip his shoulders to reassure him.

He surges upward all at once, burying his cock inside me all the way to the hilt. I cry out, my nails digging into his skin, my back arching at the sharp combination of pleasure and pain. He exhales and there’s something low, male, and predatory about it that makes my heart skip a beat. He kisses me with deep, hurried, impatient strength, holding himself at my center for so long that I make a needy sound.

He withdraws completely and adjusts his knees before slamming back into me again. This time, he doesn’t stop. Each thrust is long, powerful, swift, and smooth. I’ve never been fucked like this before. There’s nothing awkward or selfish in his movements. Each stroke sets off a bundle of nerves into dizzying bursts of pleasure. He’s filling me more and more every time, going deeper, making the smallest adjustments to hit the right spot, rolling his hips to allow his pelvis to graze my clit. There is no restraint between us. I find myself losing any sense of control that I ever had. I’m helpless, and yet it doesn’t bother me because he’s satisfying my every want. How? How does he know my body like we’ve been lovers for months, even years? I’m unraveling faster and faster, whimpering as my inner thighs begin to quake around his waist from the impending weight of the orgasm. It’s mere minutes and I’m on the verge of coming harder than I ever have in my entire life, and I don’t even know this man’s name.

He feels my body quivering around his cock and growls something in another language that I don’t recognize. He slides his arms from beneath my knees and grips my legs in his huge hands, wrapping them around his waist, propping himself up on his palms. He stares down at me with a dark hunger etched into his features that has nothing to do with sex, and then pounds his way inside me at a breakneck speed. My head rolls back as the pleasure triples, quadruples, as the tip of his cock strikes the hidden spot inside me over and over, sending me into convulsions. I feel myself scratching my nails down his chest, his shoulders, his back, and can’t stop because it just feels so incredible. I’m making pathetic mewling moans of ecstasy in between every punishing stroke, as if I know I deserve this delicious torture for being so foolish. I writhe as my inner muscles collapse around his cock, sending that sweet rush of completion hurtling through my veins.

He doesn’t stop. I’m soaking wet around his length but he’s still going strong, shoving deeper, harder, and I come a second time, a third, a fourth, my body drenched in sweat, my throat sore from moaning. My eyes flutter open after the fourth time I come around his cock and that’s when I see them.

His eyes.

His pupils are dilated, but they’re the wrong shape. They’re slits like a cat or a snake’s. And the irises are no longer blue but a burning, wild, furious crimson.

His mouth is open, panting harsh breaths and low moans of pleasure as he continues fucking me, and there’s something beneath his upper lip. His canines are longer, more pronounced, and sharper.

Before I can react, he leans down towards my neck, licking a long, hot, wet line along my pulse. I shiver as something tells me to tilt my head back, but his lips never moved to say so. I can’t help myself. I obey because I’m completely consumed by the pleasure he’s given me, so warm, so safe, so right.

Sharp pain crackles across my throat. Two pricks and then something warm flows over my slick skin. His mouth opens wide and latches onto it.

Blood. He’s _drinking my blood_.

I wriggle underneath him, but his hands slide beneath my ass and pull me upward, crushing me into his muscular body, and he fucks me even harder, his deep voice murmuring something softly that reaches my ears just before I come one last time and pass out.

“Let go, little one. You are mine tonight.”

* * *

 

I wake up slowly. Sunlight is peeking underneath the blinds in my window. Everything feels like it’s covered in fog.

I lay on my side staring at nothing because of the grogginess. What happened last night?

I shift underneath my blankets and realize I’m naked. My inner thighs are slightly sore, but there’s no one in bed next to me.

Then the memories crash against my mind—the scotch, the jazz club, the handsome stranger in the red overcoat, the drive back to my apartment, the multiple orgasms, and then the blood oozing down my skin.

Panicked, I sit up, touching my neck. Nothing. My throat is smooth. No bite marks. No punctures.

I glance down at the sheets. They’re still white as snow. No blood.

I sift my fingers through my messy hair, frowning. Clearly, the sex happened. Had I simply imagined the rest? It wasn’t like me to do so.

I throw on a large t-shirt and shuffle into my kitchen. As predicted, the stranger had left some time during the night or early morning. However, there’s a note propped up against what appears to be a newly bought bottle of Jameson scotch. I pick it up. It’s only one sentence long.

_Thanks for the drink._

There’s a spot of red at the bottom, too dark to be anything else but one thing.

Blood.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I hate thinking about Alucard living through the centuries without his beloved master, but this is one of my personal headcanons: that he wouldn't be quite as ruthless and savage about sating himself on blood. Sure, he'd probably prey on those who deserve it, but I like to think he'd do something along these lines on occasion. Plus, it was fun thinking about how Alucard would be as a lover. 
> 
> Assuming you'd survive it, of course.


End file.
